


Capsules

by Moonpeach



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: But just a little, Drugs, Gen, Mentions of Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonpeach/pseuds/Moonpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard to stay awake at night over all the silence when the  last things on your mind is the lingering guilt you can't escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capsules

Sometimes it's hard to stay awake at night over all the silence when the last things on your mind is the lingering guilt you can't escape. 

He's had worst days, sometimes waking up in the morning is a chore, sometimes he doesn't wake till the midday's passing or even when the sun  
starts to turn it's back and it's night again. It's formidable, strong , the way he keeps himself from letting down to slumber, force of habit in letting his eyes close and take to opening his mind to the dreams he has. 

Arthur's no expert, but he's at an assurance that this may be the induce of insomnia playing it's part. He makes no fuss over it during the spill of morning coffee, or when the others can tell just how bad it gets just from the dark circles that hang over the drop of his eyes when they get a closer look.

Attention dwindles, his mood fluctuates, and again it's another drag to the bathroom, another sag in his walk, with the mind open to isolation in his room when he's done popping open the lid on the orange tube, and dropping two capsules into his hands. 

He never makes it apparent to the rest of the home, they don't know what he goes through at night, or the struggle of it all that it paints into as a picture. What he knows is that sleep is not a good enough choice in an option for when the night comes. 

He can't do it, it's a battle and when the it's done it's course, he's left to hands gripping the sheets to a sweat and buildup he can't shake out when the dream is over. Reality seats itself in place after his body shakes enough to shelter the thought that the room's temperature lingers too cold. He's out of bed and into the safety of the rest room, feet cold to the surface when the lights turn on and it's where he stays for the time being. 

A remnant of the dream placates footage of the aftermath, he can still see the cave's surface underneath the obscurity of the mist, The pavement spit of red dots and the numbing sense pushed back upon his arm where he collapsed. 

The memories of it go by like snapshots. He can memorize the exact moments as they go by, they've played enough times in his head. Lewis's vanishing form  
leaves the edge, There's a scream somewhere and underneath the beat of a chill, a growl centers the silence over everything bit behind the daunting laughter that leaves his mouth from the split side. 

He feels gross after, at times it gets out of hand and there's a control to push his head to the toilet seat, fingers clutch the sides and off he goes, letting it drown under. It's nice to know nobody has questioned, nobody is curious enough, as so he likes to believe but he can see the concern when their eyes meet in the morning.

The way Vivi always has a question lingering off her tongue, the way Mystery's eyes always follow. He wishes things were a lot easier to explain than to just sit behind the lies, because Vivi's grown so used to seeing him this way, despite how much it hurts having him evade her all the times she's asked for why he never sleeps easy. She's asked enough, and he's done little to keep her at ease.

Tonight he messed up, he let himself slip. The bathroom door is left open, he's never quiet with it, and after shaking so much and another detox into the can, he can almost hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.  
He doesn't want to be seen, he doesn't want to be seen, not like this, not when he still feels dizzy, and hasn't stop shaking. A shade of blue comes across his peripheral vision, halting outside the hallway and slowly his eyes close. 

She's the last person he needs to see right now. 

Vivi's sleepy eyes drift to and fro from over the light towards the floor where he lurches towards the front, back to the bath it takes her but a few moments to understand what's all happening. It's a touch, a movement, and then she's on the floor with him, hands shaking to his shoulders. Like his glassy eyes don't pitch to her the idea that something's wrong. 

It's an hour on before she can even get a response  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

Arthur hates having to lie, he hates having to make excuses for the dreams, and the visions, and the nightmares that he has. But there's just so much he can get out before he's pouring over the rest and exposing the full radius of it. A certain name slips out, one Vivi couldn't understand. And the query hangs in her expression, there's a grit that come across his teeth, excusing himself out so that he doesn't have to hear her ask, hear her say it.

" What's this about a… Lewis?  
"Why do you dream so often about this guy?"  
"Why don't you ever sleep? "

What questions she has to offer, and so often than not she never gets an answer from him. He's stubborn, too lost, because it's never explained well enough without persisting to dwell into the rest of it. Mystery is only other one who knows what it is, and he can trust that the dog-not actually a dog, won't bide a peep to her if she asks. 

He can seat in the isolation of his room, fingers holding to the hot of the cup's  
contained haul of coffee, and sip quietly while he hopes the guilt doesn't bite into  
him so much. He hates having to lie to her about everything. She doesn't deserve it. None of them do but he can't complain and say that it's nobody's fault but his own.

Guilt comes in all favors, and he's sustained with confounding this as some sort of punishment for his past deeds. It shouldn't have to be seen that way, but with the level of damage it does on his conscience, the shaky nights and reliance of a release strained from the duo form of tiny capsules seem to frankly put it's point across for him. 

Vivi never hides her concern, even when he leaves his room for another cup, she meets him again by the counter side. Putting up with the tactics, ignoring is terrible, acting like everything is normal is hard. But she can't look past his knowing disregard of her questions. It's not that it's hard, it's just that he doesn't want to. 

Hands ache for the cup by the holder, she could hold a gaze for miles on and he would still never crack under, no matter how much he wants to.

" Arthur…"  
The cup is almost half full, he presses the button again.  
" Arthur."  
It's filled, to the tip, he can see the steam, it reminds him of a lot of stuff, a lot of the visions he's had.  
" Arthur."  
Tap. Cup taken away, averted gaze closes in, before he has the chance to escape. It's just a minute, just a minute, just one more damn--

"ARTHUR!"

He flinches, hand halts their attempt, with a quick resume, brown hues dot their attention to her, just as she wanted when he felt like no one was there beforehand when he was just getting coffee. There's no anger, just apathy, oh how he wishes she wouldn't look at him like that. He hates seeing that look.

" What's going on with you?" She pleads, it sounds almost like a demand, not a question. Hinted with the heavy concern to her voice, it's drops off like a bead of rain. He doesn't think he has the strength to answer right now.  
While he's mostly aware that question is innocent, the real answer to it is not, so again here comes the excuse, as always. 

" It's not Vi, I promise you I'm doing okay.."  
She looks baffled, like the answer is surprising and frankly he doesn't blame her for thinking it wasn't a good enough realistic response. 

" Really? Are you sure?" Fingers have given up on the coffee, it's probably going to be cold by the time this conversation finishes and he's not raring to replace it and try again for another cup. So they touch by the edge of the counter, tapping slightly. It's a habit he inputs.

" Yeah, I'm fine."  
Vivi seems unfazed, he wishes it wasn't like this, it's so hard not to fuck up.  
Say the wrong thing, or let something slip out like before when he was heavy and under a lot more stress than what happened here. He can't afford to keep doing this to himself, do this to her but there's not much he can just give up without making her hate his guts. 

They've talked about this before, from the incident of last night's episode, he's already explained that the topic is a no-go and they shouldn't try to bring it up any longer. She's never been exposed to that before, he's never cried out so much under her gaze and comfort. But it's just another thing to put under the rug, so he doesn't have to add to the list of things he wishes he could say to her. He can tell that she wants to ask for something else, her eyes lingers over him, faintly hesitant like she has to think it over because he's dodged her questions for so long, she's started to get picky with her choices. 

" Is… Is it the medication?"  
She asks, and Arthur immediately shuts down, the drugs he's been taking, they've been the only help that could shut out the dreams for such a long while. Prescribe for something his doctor suggested to be taken at least once at night. Vivi's only known about it in passing, as occasionally he would bring up running about for refills at a time. In a sense, the doctors don't know too well of what he's been through, what he's seen throughout the obscurity of the darkness, the visions of the caves, or Lewis…. poor poor Lewis. 

His eyes close for a bit, adjusting and hoping not to shelter weakness in his voice when he talks again. " I-It's fine… VI, the medicine's just doing what it can. I'm just having a rough week, things have been hectic and…. I just want to keep myself together okay?" 

Please take that as the only answer, because having said enough excuses has put him under a worse state than ever. He's pleading now, please just take it, just take it, he doesn't have anything else to say. 

She shifts her weight, gaze obstruct to the kitchen wall, a thinking matter before she holds her gaze with him again. Her expression paints but a picture to his eye. Solemn, but trying, and heavy under the pink of her optics is the dewing uncertainty he wish he hadn't seen. 

" If you say so.." 

Her look is strained, almost like she doesn't believe it, to which Arthur can agree as an extent. He's lying through his teeth, but she can't see that, she's never seen past that, it's an ugly advantage he has, one that he hates. But the conversation ends, she adds in one last look before her back turns and he knows that it means something regardless of how fast it ends and how glad he feels from the pressure leaving the atmosphere when they're done with their talk. As if they could even refer to it that way.

He's glad it's over, despite how rough the end felt. The coffee seats untouched, his department is a speedy one, absent and restless to his room again. By the time he reaches his room, somewhat a little through the doorway, his forehead meets the edge of the frame.

It feels silly and sick, like he shouldn't be doing this, but the subconscious thought in his head has hinders his spirits of ever revealing the truth to her fully. It's stressful, and damn near exhausting, but he'll hold up for how much can., despite how much he hates it. 

The rest of the day ends on a cold silence, he isn't bothered to leave, and the untouched coffee in the kitchen sits undisturbed, wasted and off to the side.


End file.
